


Figure Out The Rest As You Go

by silverlining99



Series: Rain [4]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-11
Updated: 2010-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all a little more than McCoy thought he was bargaining for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figure Out The Rest As You Go

Being ... _involved_ in any way with Jim Kirk is, McCoy comes to realize, a little like being planets in orbit around the same academic sun. They run in their same circles, day after day, and every so often their paths cross.

The crossing inevitably happens in or on the way to bed, of course, but those are small details. There's a bigger picture getting splashed out in broad strokes; when McCoy takes a step back and tries to take it all in, what he notices is that in the midst of all the chaos of classes and drills and work and socializing, in the midst of the rigid structure he has to apply to his life just to get it all done and not go completely fucking insane -- in the midst of all that, Jim Kirk has managed to worm his way in and become, simultaneously, the most unpredictable and most stabilizing element of all.

He shows up. They fuck. It always happens out of the blue and it's always amazing.

McCoy has no idea what any of it means.

That bothers him less than he thinks it probably should. And it really, really should, he figures. He had all these...intentions, when he enlisted in Starfleet.

He intended to start over. He intended to make something of himself despite the ruin he'd managed to make of his first go at life. He intended to get at least a few light years between himself and all the reminders of how hideously he'd failed.

He did not intend to become fuck buddies with a kid whose maturity lags behind his age as surely as his intellect outpaces it.

Someday, McCoy tries telling himself repeatedly, someday life is going to go according to the goddamn plan. In the meantime he realizes that he's been, for the two months he and Jim have been fucking each other's brains out, sort of falling down on the "buddies" part of that job.

Not that he knows, precisely, how the hell one goes about becoming buddies with Jim Kirk.

Or becoming anything else, for that matter.

He just starts feeling like he should maybe...try. He's thought, more than once, that he should say something on one of the many occasions Jim is puttering around his room, hopping back into jeans and hunting for his socks and nattering on about his next class, a study group, a party, whichever thing he's off to next.

He's thought, repeatedly, that he should maybe say something along the lines of, "why don't you stay awhile?" Something along the lines of, "I like you for more than your dick, you know."

Something along the lines of, "so. This friendship thing."

Instead he says, "see you around, then," and lets Jim go, every single time.

Until after the holidays, at least, when crappy weather and a guilty conscience somehow create the perfect storm of - well, of whatever the hell he and Jim are.

By all accounts he gets from locals and upperclassmen, the winter they're suffering through is colder and even wetter than normal. There's a strange snap to the air that makes people shake their heads, and though it's the sort of thing you lose track of, McCoy's pretty sure if he checked he'd find it has in fact rained nearly twenty days running.

It amuses him more than anything. January in Georgia can be temperate at times, but most of the years of his life it's been just the wrong side of frigid and icy, exactly cold enough to pink the cheeks and freeze the breath at stepping out of doors. Here, he figures, if half the cadets are able to keep running around in skirts then they've got nothing to complain about.

Still, he himself is damn sick of feeling soggy more often than not. So he's in a relatively good mood provoked by a genuine sunny day when he walks into the student union for lunch, and turns away from the food bar only to catch sight of Jim kicked back in a chair, chatting with two other cadets.

Something in the air, he tells himself to explain the sudden urge that comes over him. He huffs out a sigh and veers off course from the empty, quiet table calling his name from the corner. Jim doesn't even notice until McCoy is standing next to him, tapping his foot. "Hey. You mind?"

Jim looks up and just...blinks. "Bones. Hi."

"Hey," he says again. He gestures to the open seat, frowns at the empty tray and pile of PADDs scattered in front of it. "Well?"

Jim keeps staring at him, like he can't believe what's actually in front of his face. Then, suddenly, his eyes crinkle happily. "Yeah! Yeah. Uh." He scrambles to move things out of the way. "Sit, um. This is Shandi, and Gary. Guys, this is Bo -- shit, what do people even call you?"

McCoy rolls his eyes before tipping a nod of acknowledgment at Jim's friends. "Leonard is fine."

Still looking at him with that pleased -- goofy, he thinks -- expression, Jim leans to the side and bumps their shoulders together. "What's your afternoon like?"

"Clinic shift at two. I just wanted to grab some lunch, thought I'd say hi." Jim's face, his stupid, delighted face, is too much to look at. It's idiotic, he thinks, that that should make his mood sour so oddly. "So...hi," he adds gruffly, glaring at the swamp of creamed corn congealing in a bowl on his tray.

"You said that part already," Jim offers helpfully. "Earlier. Twice."

"Can it."

Jim snorts with laughter but shows mercy and returns to his conversation. For a few minutes, at least, until Shandi and Gary pack up and leave for class, and Jim stays put. He pillows his arms on the table and rests his cheek on them, watches Bones eat with bright eyes. "You don't usually eat in here on Fridays."

McCoy glances at him, wonders briefly just how detailed a knowledge Jim has managed to acquire of his schedule and habits. "I usually go study in my room," he admits. "But it's a nice day. And I'm out of food."

Jim steals the last bit of his roll straight off his plate. "Mm-hmm," he mumbles with his mouth full. "You going straight to the clinic?"

"Heathen. No, I have to go get my uniform."

"Great," Jim announces. "I'll walk with you."

McCoy checks the time automatically, considers how much they can fit in during the hour left before his shift. He assumes that's Jim's agenda and... he doesn't particularly have a problem with it. He nods shortly and clears his tray before meeting Jim at the exit and falling into step for a brisk walk across campus through drying puddles of water.

At his dorm, he keys open his door and walks inside. "We'll have to be quick, I don't have much time," he says over his shoulder, before realizing Jim isn't following him. He frowns. "You coming in?"

Jim stands there with his hands shoved in his pockets and his head ducked, tilted to the side. He smiles sheepishly. "I don't want to have sex." McCoy stares at him in disbelief and Jim laughs. "Okay, okay, I wouldn't say _no_ \-- but you've got stuff to do and all. I just wanted to, uh. Say something."

McCoy waits. "Well?" he finally presses.

"It was cool you came over," Jim says in a rush of air. "That's it. I was glad to see you."

"I noticed," McCoy says dryly, then shrugs. "Sorry I haven't, before. You've been doing all the work here."

"True. Dick." Jim flashes a quick grin. "Anyway. I'll see you later, I guess."

McCoy leans into his doorframe and watches Jim lope down the hall, calls after him just before he turns the corner and exits out of view. "Hey, Jim." Jim spins on his feet and pauses. "I'll be back from the clinic by twenty-one hundred. I could grab some takeout on my way."

He can see those damn crinkles, even from a distance. "Make it Mexican and you're never getting rid of me, I'm warning you."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, McCoy ducks back into his room.

He's suddenly glad he knows a place that makes killer flautas.

 

Jim shows up right on time. There's food on the table, still tucked away inside paper bags wrapped inside plastic, leaking aroma all over the place. It takes McCoy by surprise when Jim casually steps in close and kisses him hello, and even more when that turns into Jim pressing him back against the table, mouth lewd and wet and hot against his, hands fumbling open his pants to dip inside. Jim seems eager in a different way than usual, seems driven to give McCoy something, to get right to the point and accomplish this before moving on to any detail so menial as sustenance.

McCoy can't exactly bring himself to protest this rearrangement of the sequence of the evening.

"Hey, so," Jim gasps, long minutes in. His t-shirt has somehow wound up slung over the sack of food. He curls one arm tight around McCoy's neck and keeps kissing him messily, between words, his breathing heavy. His other hand moves rapidly, roughly over McCoy's cock. "I needed to tell you something, full disclosure and all. I had a little too much to drink the other night and fucked someone."

He falters a little after he says it, everything skipping a beat, going hesitant. McCoy lets the information sink in, lets himself be sure of how he feels. He wraps his hand around Jim's and guides his strokes and bites quickly on Jim's lip. "Hm. Girl or guy?"

"Uh. Girl."

McCoy pushes away from the table. He steers Jim to his bed, shoves him down on it and leans down to wrench Jim's pants open and peel them down. "Was she hot?" he asks idly, stripping off his own clothes.

Jim stretches lithely when McCoy straddles him. His smile is relieved and lazy, almost drugged; his eyelids flutter and his breath catches as McCoy gathers both their cocks and tugs slowly. "Please," he says unsteadily. "Like I sleep with people who aren't hot. I'm shallow, remember?"

"You're impossible, is what you are," McCoy says fondly. He reaches for the lube and slicks Jim's fingers for him, guides Jim's hand to start opening him. He keeps his eyes fixed on Jim's face, on every flicker of surprise and need and desire it betrays. When Jim reaches his free hand to touch himself, McCoy swats it away and does it himself, strokes slowly and twists his wrist, flicks his thumbnail in a way he knows drives Jim crazy. "Patience, kid, I hear it's a virtue. So come on, tell me. What'd she give you that you couldn't have come and gotten from me?"

"N-nothing. She was there, it was dumb. Bones, fuck, is that enough, I want in --"

"Was it good?" He wants, terribly, to hurry things up, to sink down on Jim and seek out satisfaction already, but there's something appealing about drawing this out, keeping Jim on edge with the suggestion of more. "Tell me what you did to her."

Jim squeezes his eyes shut and grabs at a fistful of the sheets. His other arm shakes as his fingers push deep into McCoy, and McCoy has to push the sight of it all, the feel of it, to a deep, detached place in his mind just to keep control. "Bones --"

"I want to hear how you fucked her, Jim," McCoy says evenly. He slicks Jim's cock and shifts to let the head press lightly against his ass, holds it poised in position. "You give me what I want, I'll give you what you want."

"Motherfucker," Jim bites out. His eyes blink open, glassy with want. "She -- she wasn't a cadet. We went to her place and she blew me right inside the door, let me fuck her face for ages." McCoy grits his teeth and presses down, lets gravity and his own weight do the work of taking Jim a scant inch into his body. Detachment goes straight out the window as Jim's cock stretches him open and it's damn near impossible not to just sink lower. "Didn't-- oh, _fuck_ yeah -- we didn't even undress, just, I just fucked her over the back of her couch." Jim's breath hitches as McCoy takes him further in. "Fuck, she -- she fucking begged for it, Bones, she had this _voice_ I couldn't stand so I put my hand over her mouth and just, just fucked her and she -- she got herself off and I just kept going, I couldn't quite -- it took fucking forever."

McCoy completes his slow slide, grins through clenched teeth as Jim gasps and nudges his hips up like he could possibly get even deeper. "Christ. That's -- that's what you get for getting drunk, kid."

"Yeah," Jim agrees. He lets out a whooshing breath and pets and clutches at McCoy's bent thighs. "Wanna know how I finally managed to come?"

McCoy leans down over him and catches his mouth, kisses him lewdly. He rocks slowly, letting Jim slip to and fro inside him, just enough to make Jim groan and pant. " _Yes_. Tell me."

Jim slides his arms around McCoy, rubs his hands down to grip his ass and hold him still as he rocks his hips up. "Thought of you," he mumbles. "How you are when I fuck you, the noises _you_ make when I've got my dick in you just like this. Kept her quiet and closed my eyes and-- and thought about when I'm pounding away at you and you're still so surprised by how much you want that, you fucking love it, Bones, I know you do --"

His words flare all the way down McCoy's spine and make him push back hard. "Jesus, Jim," he groans, and gives in, starts fucking himself on Jim's cock in earnest. "Crazy fucking brat, I shouldn't encourage you."

"Are you nuts? You should _totally_ encourage me." Jim's hands move restlessly, touching and grabbing everywhere he can reach, until he suddenly heaves and rolls, gets McCoy under him. He digs his toes in and braces his hands and snaps his hips hard. "See what it gets you?"

McCoy hisses and arches, wraps his legs as high as he can, and Jim guides one arm around his shoulders and spreads his knees and rears up, hauls McCoy's weight up into his arms. "Oh fuck, Jim, _fuck_ ," McCoy gasps, and kisses him hard as Jim strains to hold him steady and drive up into him. Jim can't take it long, hitching McCoy's weight, and has to lower him carefully back down, but it's worth it for the blaze of sensation set off with every stroke of Jim's cock, for the on-the-edge burn of desire in Jim's eyes as he sets back into fucking McCoy fast.

And just when the tension starts to build, just when McCoy feels like he's ready to start ramping up towards release, Jim stops cold, ignores McCoy's grunt of protest. "Hold still," Jim orders with a smirk. Slowly, carefully enough that he doesn't slip out, he sits back and eases one leg at a time out in front of him before pulling McCoy up into his lap. "Come on, Bones, your turn."

McCoy rolls his eyes. Fucking Jim, he's learned well enough, can turn swiftly acrobatic when Jim gets notions in his head. He's long since lost much sense of embarrassment over the ridiculous crap Jim manages to goad him into in the pursuit of orgasm. He grabs one of Jim's shoulders and reaches back to brace his other hand on Jim's knee, starts riding Jim in a slow rise and fall that he grinds into, taking Jim deep on each pass. Jim presses his face to McCoy's chest, gnaws lightly at one nipple. "Faster," Jim says, a muffled demand.

McCoy grumbles. "This isn't that easy, you know."

Jim jostles him out of his rhythm, shifting slowly to get his feet over the edge of the bed and to the floor. His leverage better, he moves McCoy's legs to wrap around his back and pulls him tight, pushes up into the desperate rotation of McCoy's hips. McCoy digs his fingers into Jim's thigh as he arches his back and shoves down wantonly, grunting with every stroke. "Jim," McCoy groans. Jim strains to get his mouth on McCoy's chest, his neck, to taste his skin. "Jim, shit, I gotta -- I need to come, _fuck_ , could you just --?"

Jim laughs. "Anything for you, Bones." He waits for McCoy to shift forward and hold on tight, then slips his arms under McCoy's knees, stands in one smooth motion to turn and dump him back on the mattress, following along without disengaging. McCoy grits his teeth through the awkward rearrangement, the process of Jim hefting his body along until they're both stable -- also worth it, for the moment Jim finally plants his hands and puts his hips into it, loses himself to a steady pace of long strokes. Their skin slaps together and his cock hits McCoy's prostate again and again, and McCoy wraps a hand around his own cock and jerks it furiously, clenching harder around Jim the closer he gets. "Jim - Jim, _Christ_ , I'm gonna--" He trails off with a gasp, stripes his own chest with come. "Fuck. God _damn_."

At the sight of it, of McCoy spasming into his orgasm, Jim seems to lose it. He slams deep and pushes through each pulse of his release, like if he could just crawl into McCoy and stay there he'd happily do it. "Jesus," McCoy mumbles tiredly as Jim goes still. Jim's lips trail across his cheek, nudging until McCoy moves to meet his kiss, his searching tongue. "Jim..."

"I wasn't all that drunk," Jim gets in, still tearing hungrily at McCoy's mouth. "I just.. It wasn't _good_ , Bones, she wasn't -- she wasn't you."

McCoy goes still, slowly. "That what we're doing here, then?" He pushes at Jim until Jim withdraws and rolls off, and he just stares at the ceiling. "What the hell, Jim."

Jim yawns and stretches. "Fuck if I know, man. Sleep on it, yell at me tomorrow."

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, asshole," McCoy says, without rancor. "I bought you dinner, you're damn well gonna eat it."

He finds it impossible to sleep on it even later. Long after Jim is well-fed and slung out on his stomach, snoring lightly against the mattress, McCoy lies awake, trying to think through the last year of his life, Jim's place in it, everything. He gets up near dawn, showers, tries to study but finds he can't. He keeps staring at Jim spread out in his bed, graceless and vulnerable in sleep.

It's not an unpleasant sight, not by a long shot. McCoy rubs his eyes and gives up, pads back across the room to bend down and shake Jim lightly. "Jim. Wake up."

Jim snorts and blinks blearily. "huh? Bones...whatsit?"

"You awake?"

"Yeah, yeah." Jim sits up and frowns at him. "Is this is the yelling part?"

"No." McCoy sits next to him, leans in to kiss him quickly. "Do everyone a favor and don't fuck people you don't want, okay? Life is easier that way."

"So I'm a little slow," Jim says with a smile, wrapping his hand around the back of McCoy's neck and tipping his head to kiss him more. "Don't worry, I've caught on now."

McCoy huffs out a laugh and lets Jim drag him back into bed. "Yeah, yeah, knucklehead. Time will tell, I suppose."


End file.
